Valery Poshtarov’s portraits of fathers and sons holding hands is a study of “what remains unsaid between men”

A little while ago, the photographer Valery Poshtarov had a stark realisation: one day, his two young sons would no longer need, or want, to hold his hand on the way to school. It was this feeling, a sudden awareness of the inevitability of change and growth, that then propelled Valery to take a very specific portrait – his father and grandfather holding hands. Or, in the Sofia-based photographer’s words, a portrait of “two grown men returning to a gesture we associate with childhood”. This photo was the first in what now stands as an extensive, country-spanning photographic study of “masculinity, tenderness, and what remains unsaid between men”, fittingly titled, Father and Son.

Many photographers talk of the desire to make their sitters feel ‘comfortable’, to use their camera to capture them at ease, caught in a moment where it feels they’re not even aware of the camera in front of them. But for Valery, the opposite is true – his photos rely on a level of uncertainty. “I’m more interested in what happens when two men sit with a little discomfort – because that’s where truthfulness, vulnerability and real connection often appear,” the photographer says. In each image his subjects (found through street casting, free postcards handed out in each new location, written correspondence, social media and word of mouth) are composed near identically, in the centre of the frame, holding hands and staring directly at the lens of the camera – the true uniqueness of each shot comes from studying subtle expressions.

Some appear resolute, as if given a task they don’t want to take part in but will. Others look actively uncomfortable at the contact, keen to get it over with as soon as possible. The odd pair appear content, perhaps not unaccustomed or averse to such intimacy. Of course, anything we may personally try to gauge from the scenes is pure speculation. Valery is intent on keeping things open to interpretation – he never shares personal stories or facts about the sitters, in part to protect their privacy but also to keep the images “universal”. He continues: “The viewer isn’t told what to think – they’re invited to finish the narrative and, in a way, find their own story inside the gesture.”

One place the photographer does include some contextual clues is the background of each image, carefully selected to reflect the cultural identity of the fathers and sons; for Valery the project is as much a study of heritage as it is one about familial ties. “The background is part of that story, so I choose it based on what is true for them – their work environment, their home territory, or a place that reflects what they share,” says Valery. “As the project grows country by country, the portraits start to function like visual anthropology: personal stories that also describe a wider cultural identity.” A portrait taken in Midyat, Turkey shows a father and son standing before a whitewashed wall, laden with woven mats, pottery and family photographs, a decorative rug beneath their feet. Another particularly joyful portrait, taken in Anzio, Italy, shows a father and son dressed in the same royal blue outfit, standing proudly outside a colourful tent, suggesting a family connection to the circus.

It was recently that Valery realised the project had enough “cultural breath” to constitute a new format – a photobook. Named after the series, the book’s blue clothbound front cover features a drawing by Valery: a heart filled with two faces. “I rejected the ‘perfect’ solutions – photo or clean typography – and drew a simple, childish heart,” ends Valery. “It says what the project says: we don’t outgrow the longing for connection. We need to hold someone’s hand all the way to the end.”